


Cecil-Flavored

by Louffox



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alcohol, Drag, M/M, PWP, Rave, Shameless Smut, Slash, Slight Bondage, Twoshot, corsets, flavored glitter, there will be frick frack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:59:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil thinks its a good idea to wear flavored glitter. Carlos has to agree. </p><p>(Something I said I was going to do a while ago, and finally just got around to finishing it. Expect graphic smut.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cecil-Flavored

**Author's Note:**

> At a livestream for Carro (aka goddess-in-green on tumblr) some of us were talking and someone said that FLAVORED GLITTER IS A THING. And I can't resist the slightest hint of prompts, and of course I immediately started writing, abandoned it, resumed it, abandoned it... anyways, it's coming in two parts and it's pure fricky-fracky smut, so enjoy!

Carlos was a sort of savant- science enveloped his life. He ignored-slash-forgot about everything else on a daily basis- eating, exercising (luckily he was kept from getting sedentary from the former), his family, laundry, etc. He had forgotten about Cecil, only once. He’d missed their date, and when he returned home late, it was to find the radio host himself, sitting at the kitchen counter, holding a mug of scotch with chapped cheeks and red, swollen eyes.

The silent, slurred, hiccuping words were heavy with disappointment and fear, and somehow this was much worse than his mother’s anger and his college roommate’s concern. He’d folded him into his arms and gotten him a glass of water and promised him he’d never do that again.

Which is why 6:30 found him spending more time staring at the clock than at his cultures.

At 6:40 exactly, he had this things put away, instructions for some of his coworkers to lock up the lab for the night, and went up to his flat to wash quickly. He used the cologne that he knew was Cecil’s favorite, and put on his ‘formal’ lab coat (it was just a clean one that had no stains and didn’t smell like agar) over a nice green button-up. He had no idea what their date was consisting of, only that Cecil asked him to be at his apartment at quarter past 7.

He was on the road at 7, and knocked on Cecil’s door at 7:08.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, louder, and wondered if time was wrong again or if he’d misheard the time, or what was going on.

The door opened, and Carlos swallowed hard. Nope, none of those.

“I’m so sorry, I got home a bit late- Khoshekh seemed to be hovering a bit lower than usual and I was worried he was ill, I stayed while Teddy Williams came over to check him over,” Cecil panted slightly, grinning with embarrassment. He was also wearing only a towel around his waist, and was soaking wet.

“N-no, it’s fine! God, I’m sorry- you didn’t come out of the shower to get the door, did you?” Carlos managed. It was very hard to keep his eyes level with Cecil’s. He was unable to resist glancing down, which was a mistake, as his toned, pale, tattooed chest was glistening with beads of water in a particularly picturesque manner. Seriously, the contact angle of the droplets was impossible.

“It’s fine. Come on in, sit down, I’ll finish getting ready and then we can go,” Cecil said cheerfully, opening the door wider to let him in and pecking him on the cheek as he passed.

He reclined across the couch comfortably, playing a game on his phone until he heard Cecil emerge from the bedroom. He sat up with a smile.

“You ready to g-uhh,” he said. Cecil beamed at him.

He was wearing tight leather pants that looked like they were painted on (Carlos actually wouldn’t be surprised if they were) and a lavender… well, it could only be described as a corset. It had deep purple boning and was trimmed with black lace. He had on tall boots of the same dark purple, and was fully decked out with makeup- eyeshadow, mascara, eyeliner, blush, and a generous amount of glitter across his collarbones, neck, and shoulders. His lips, painted a shimmery lavender, were turned up in a complete shit-eating grin.

“What was that, doll?” Cecil said callously, lifting one brow high.

“Uh. Wha…. um, where are we going?” Carlos said, pausing to swallow. His mouth was very wet suddenly.

“Well, its the third Friday of the month."

"Y-yes... It is," Carlos agreed, not sure what that meant.

"So Big Rico has opened up the cellar."

"The cellar? You mean... Like a club?"

"More of a rave, but you'll see. Don't worry, as long as you don't drink anything blue, you'll have a great time. C'mon, its close enough to walk," he said, retrieving a dangerously form-fitting leather jacket from his closet.

Carlos got up and put his shoes on in a bit of a haze. He'd discovered early on that Cecil somethings wore clothes that would be considered, outside of Night Vale, for girls only. The first time he'd shown up for their date in a white halter sundress, Carlos had stared for a long moment, waiting to feel uncomfortable and disgusted. He was surprised to find that, instead of following non-Night Vale preconceptions, he saw Cecil in a dress as attractive and acceptable. The only time he felt uncomfortable is when they got caught in the rain, then a different kind of uncomfortable when Cecil's white dress had gone translucent.

But this was the first time Cecil had worn a corset, and he was happy to find that this was very okay with him. _Very_ okay.

"Should I wear something a little more... More?" he asked uncertainly, glancing at his dark jeans and green button up.

"No, no! This is perfect," Cecil all but purred, running a hand over the lapel of his lab coat. Carlos would never quite understand his lab coat kink- it was practically a fetish at this point- but he did enjoy it.

"You know best," Carlos agreed, kissing his cheekbone and opening the door like a gentleman.

The walk to Big Rico's was short, and full of Carlos trying not to check out Cecil's ass and Cecil giving ambiguous answers to his questions about the 'rave'.

When they arrived, Cecil caught his wrist and tugged him around the building to the back. There were those basement doors that were set in the ground that Carlos was fairly sure had never been there before, and two large men flanking them.

"Evening, boys," Cecil greeted carelessly. "Its the big bad wolf, let us in."

"That's not the passcode," one said gruffly.

"Don't be stupid, Cecil sets the passcode, he don't need it to get in. C'mon in, Mr. Palmer and Mr. Scientist," the other bouncer said, heaving the doors open.

"You set the code?" Carlos asked with interest as they descended. “Why does there have to be a code?”

"The City Council and the Glow Cloud don’t really like clubs or raves. The Glow Cloud feels it’s inappropriate use of glowing and rainbow lights, and the Council is just old fashioned. As for the code, there's a pattern for it on my show- if I say anything about 'partially stars, mostly void,' then the code is the last two words of the traffic," he explained loudly, over the growing sounds of thudding bass and whining electro.

Something occurred to Carlos very suddenly. If Cecil hadn't been holding his hand, he would've stopped dead in his tracks.

"Cecil, I can't dance," he said firmly. He was ready for Cecil to insist that yes, he could, to stop being shy, to try anyways.

What he did instead was to turn his head and gaze at him through his lashes, his mouth half upturned in a smile. “You don’t need to, with me. Trust me.”

Carlos didn’t trust his voice to answer and Cecil had turned back around again anyways. He released his hand to peel off the tight leather jacket and give Carlos a fantastic view of toned shoulders and sharp scapulae beneath a sheath of corded trapezius and deltoid and rhomboid muscles, glistening with glitter and cut off by the lace edge of the corset. He was muscular enough to be fit, but not heavy, bulky muscle- more like the body of a swimmer or a runner, toned from digging graves in the intern break room. The back of the corset was laced tightly, and somehow the combination of the cinched, wasp-thin waist and toned muscle was almost unbearably sexy.

They emerged into the dance area and Cecil carelessly tossed his jacket onto a table near the door without pausing in his step, sauntering straight into the middle of the throng of dancing people and pseudo-people. Carlos was helpless to do anything but follow the sway of that perfect, leather-clad ass and the flutter of black ribbons.

Cecil stopped about at the middle of the crowd and turned, his body swaying like a cobra, as sinuous and hypnotizing, warming to the beat. Carlos uncertainly stopped, about a foot of space between them that Cecil took care of almost immediately, stepping right forward so they were sharing air, slowly lifting his arms, trailing his hands over his own sides, until his hands swayed above his head, his body undulating against Carlos’s.

“Move with me,” Cecil breathed right into his ear canal, his lips brushing his pinna lightly. Carlos powerlessly obeyed, easily catching the rhythm of the motion and mimicking it. “Good. Perfect Carlos. Now keep that motion. _I’ll_ do the rest.”

Cecil was moving differently now, his hips catching an extra half beat here and there, slowing and swaying to the drops in the music, his hands lowering to catch Carlos’s (awkwardly hovering at his sides) and settling them on his hips, right on the thin sliver of skin between the bottom of his corset and the top of his low-slung leather pants.

Then he really started dancing.

It was like art, but freed of its stillness. It was like a hurricane, but without the fear. It was feline minus the allergies, serpentine without the toxin, ethereal but with substance, ineffable and alluring and _holyfuck_ erotic.

It was all Carlos could do to hold that simple sway, while Cecil wove around him, all long-limbed and graceful, never completely losing contact- they were always touching at some point along their bodies. It was all Carlos could do to remember to breathe. It was all he could do to not take him, right there, on the dance floor. Hell, half his motions were a zip away from some form of sex anyways. His line of thought was justified further when Cecil have a faint twirl and ground his ass twice, hard, into Carlos’s crotch. His hands caught on his waist again, having slid off when he’d turned, and his fingers dug in hard. He swore he could feel Cecil’s giggle and hiss of appreciation.

“I _need_ a drink,” he said in Cecil’s ear, shouting over the music in a much less sexy manner than Cecil’s intimate whispers.

“Get me one. Remember, nothing blue. I don’t care what,” Cecil replied, and his normally pitched voice was somehow crystal clear despite the rave’s pounding volume. He nodded and threaded through the damp, pulsating crowd.

The bartender was Hiram, as he had five heads and so could take five orders at once- however, he only had two forelimbs and could only make one at a time, so it was only sort of a good idea. Carlos wisely approached the green head who liked him best (the purple head was cordial, but the rest didn’t like him too much because they felt he had missed his calling and should’ve been a herpetologist, and took his polite refusal to become one as a personal offense) and asked rather generically for something strong for himself, and something sweet for Cecil. And remembered at the last moment to request that they weren’t blue. They were served in due time, and Hiram waved away his attempt to pay.

“Cecil always gets his drinks for free- he wired up the sound system, and he makes the playlists, not to mention that he sets the passcode. And any guest of his- especially _Carlos the scientist_ \- gets the same treatment.”

“Also, don’t forget to vote for Hiram McDaniels for a future of fire and eternal glory,” purple head put in.

“And turn your eyes to the true path, foolish sapien, study the true species of dominance and perhaps you will be spared on the Day of the Lizard,” yellow head interjected, eyes narrowing.

“Uh. Thanks,” Carlos said with an uncomfortable smile. His brain didn’t have enough blood flow to deal with this, so he just nodded and took their drinks. He found Cecil over where he’d tossed his jacket, fanning himself with a hand and laughing at something that Simone was signing to him. He signed something back, and they both doubled over, cackling.

“Got you a, um… well, I’m not sure. I asked for something sweet,” Carlos said, handing Cecil his drink. (It was violently orange with pink sugar around the rim that aggressively clashed with the orange, while Carlos’s was a comforting amber, the color he expected alcohol to look.

“Simone said Michael Sandero asked her to dance,” Cecil informed Carlos, eyes bright.

“He’s handsome,” Carlos said with a shrug. “What did you say?”

 _Yes, of course! He is very handsome. But he dances terribly. Stepped on my feet so many times_ , she signed, and both Cecil and Carlos laughed. _But I’ll see if I can teach him to do better. I’ll leave you two to your night. Have fun!_

She winked ostentatiously at Cecil before entering the fray of the dance floor. Carlos drained his drink.

“Mmm, Carlos, this drink is perfect. You know me so well,” Cecil laughed, kissing his jaw happily.

“Thanks. Are you having fun?”

“Yes! I love these. It’s an added bonus to have made the playlist- I know all the songs,” he said after a swig, proving his point by bumping hips with Carlos. His smile was infectious. “Are you having fun?”

“I’m definitely enjoying myself, that’s for sure,” Carlos laughed. In a bold stroke (maybe it was the bass that his heart was trying to keep up with, or whatever drink he’d just introduced to his system) he pulled Cecil flush against him so the radio host could feel his hard on, and nuzzled his neck. “I’m _really_ enjoying myself,” he murmured into his collarbone, feeling himself blush at the move.

“I love what I do to you,” Cecil breathed, wiggling his hips and rocking his body against Carlos’s in a both sensual move. Carlos’s breath hitched, and he needed Cecil to need him as much as Carlos needed Cecil. He pressed his lips to the joint of his neck and shoulder in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, flicking his tongue across the spot. And then his eyes opened in curiosity, and he did it again to a spot of skin right beside it.

“Cecil. Why do you taste like honey?” he asked, drawing back for a moment. The radio host blushed, but still waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“That’s probably the flavored glitter I’ve got on.”

“You… there’s such thing as _flavored glitter_?” Carlos repeated incredulously.

“Yeah. If you don’t like it, I’ve also got marshmallow and frosting and molasssssahhh,” he sighed as Carlos attacked his neck with his mouth again, licking up the path of his sternocleidomastoid in a hot, wet stripe.

“I really like it,” Carlos murmured into his skin, pulling him tighter against him.

“I-I-I, um, I think we sh-oh!-should go back t-hoooo, to my place,” he stammered as Carlos licked across his skin. His hips jerked instinctively, and Carlos groaned into his neck.

“We’re getting a cab. I don’t have the patience for a long walk,” Carlos growled, fingers teasing at the corset. Cecil regained his sense and slapped at his fingers mischievously.

“Fine. But no more glitter for you until we’re securely at my apartment,” Cecil said firmly.

“Okay,” Carlos said grumpily, already pulling out his cell to call a cab, but Cecil put his hand over Carlos’s fingers.

“There are cabs on the street,” he said, getting his jacket. Carlos watched him finish his drink, barely gave him time to set the glass down, before he was grasping his hand and tugging him back through the passageway, up the stairs and bursting out the doors, marching around and flagging a cab.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Comment or kudos for eternal love and possibly the chance of winning a lifetime supply of overgrown pseudo-tame pretty-much-not-poisonous spiders)


End file.
